


Things Arthur Knows

by lepidolite



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepidolite/pseuds/lepidolite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what Arthur knows:<br/><i>Sorcerers deserve to burn.</i><br/><i>Merlin is a sorcerer.</i><br/>The decision should be obvious to him. But it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Arthur Knows

**Author's Note:**

> Set between series two and three.

At the end of his first sleep of the night, years after he first met him, Arthur wakes up and thinks, “ _Merlin is a sorcerer._ ”

 

The world doesn’t stop turning; the sky doesn’t collapse in on itself; birds don’t spontaneously combust on their perches.  All that changes is the bittersweet certainty that slithers its way into his bones, around his heart, slick and twisting, whispering _this is true._

 

It is sickening, and wrong, and horrible, but it is _true_. He is more sure of it than he has ever been of anything else.

 

It scares him.

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

This is what Arthur knows:

_Sorcerers are bad._

_Sorcerers are corrupt._

_Sorcerers are cruel._

_Sorcerers make crops fail._

_Sorcerers make Father hate._

_Sorcerers stole Morgana away._

_Sorcerers deserve to burn._

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

On the ceiling of his bed there are dragons.

They breathe fire, and rampage, and soar. They battle, and howl, and are defeated. Their outlines are etched indelibly into the dark wood as they writhe out their death throes and knights stand, triumphant, over their hulking bodies, armour untainted.

He traces their shapes with his fingers, making invisible patterns in the air.

Arthur wonders.

Did any of his victories belong to him?

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

This is what Arthur knows:  
 _Merlin is clumsy._

_Merlin is loyal._

_Merlin is brave._

_Merlin is messy._

_Merlin is an idiot._

_Merlin is wise._

_Merlin is a sorcerer._

______________________________________________________________________________________

There is a _thump thumpthump clatter thump_ as Merlin enters the room and promptly trips over absolutely nothing, before managing to regain his equilibrium and save himself and the tray he is holding from skittering across the floor.  He is late; of course he is late. He is Merlin.

(Before him, Arthur had never had a sleep-in a day in his life. Now he finds that his sleeping pattern has adjusted to his servant’s rather than the reverse. The spaces between dead and morning sleep seem so much more the wider, nights like the last stretching on endlessly.)

Arthur’s hand falls to the mattress with a dull thud.

______________________________________________________________________________________

This is what Arthur knows:

_Something in his life is wrong._

______________________________________________________________________________________

 

Merlin chatters faster than Llamrei can gallop, as usual, and nicks about a third of Arthur’s breakfast, as usual, and dresses him quickly and neatly, as usual, and teases him about something or other, as usual.

Arthur responds, as usual, and takes it too far, as usual, and is thankful that Merlin’s nimble enough not to get a brain injury because of him, as usual.

Except for the terseness in Arthur’s tone, the tension in his shoulders and belly, the roiling thoughts in his head, it would be the same as any morning.

He hates it, because it is not the same.

He hates it, because it’s impossible to hate Merlin.

______________________________________________________________________________________

 

This is what Arthur knows:

 _He loves his father._

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

His movements are short and vicious, eyes calculating, hard.

 _Swingblockstepparrystepdisarmstrike_ , and his trainee-knight is sprawled in the dirt, grinding out an _I yield, sire_.

This, at least, is his.

This he can control.

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

This is what Arthur knows:

_He cares for Merlin._

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

The pyre is lit for the third time that month. Arthur imagines the man on it to be Merlin, and almost retches.

He has Merlin scrub the stench of burnt flesh from his hair that night, but he still smells it. __________________________________________________________________________________

 

This is what Arthur knows:  
 _He is going to have to choose._

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

He sits in his daily meetings with the court, more quiet than he should be. His father barely notices. Uther seems lost, especially today, another search party returning fruitless and ward-less.

Arthur watches him from the corner of his eye.

It is his duty to tell him.

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

This is what Arthur finds out:

_It wasn’t a hard choice. Not really._

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

When Uther sends Arthur on yet another quest to find Morgana, he takes Merlin with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted **[here](http://oddityisavirtue.livejournal.com/19164.html#cutid1)** as part of a fanfiction challenge over at [merlin_land](http://merlin-land.livejournal.com/), September 9th, 2011.


End file.
